
Love and a Way. f 



Comedy in Three Acts. 

Female Characters 
Only. 




<£ 



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LOVE AND A WAY 



JTn Original Comedy in Cbree Hits 



FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY 



BY 
EVELYN SIMMS 

Author of "Maidens All Forlorn" 



Copyright, 1904, b\ ,Dtck & Fitzgerald - 

(All rights reserved) 



*& 



NEW YORK 

DICK & FITZGERALD, Publishers 

18 Ann Street 



t CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

FEB | 1904 

Copyright Entry , 
£LaSS Z,n X*». No 






^<? 



LOVE AND A WAY 



«£ 



CHARACTERS 

Phyllis Merrick A wilful young lady 

Amelia Porter ) Phyllis aunts 

Agnes Porter ) 

Beatrice Vane Phyllis's young friend 

Time. — The present. 

Time of Representation.— One hour and a quarter. 



COSTUMES 

Phyllis Merrick. Neat indoor dress suitable for a young 
girl about eighteen. 

" ' AMSViX^PG^TEfe. Dres's* &nd; make-up of an old maid of sixty. 
/ AG*N'E5.*| ) 0Xre?., # 6imijar,> fcut. appropriate to a few years 
younger. 

BEa?RiCE J 'VANE..«.Y,Gung iady'5 walking costume. 



PROPERTIES 

Book shelf with books. Table, sofa, chairs, etc. Pen, ink and 
writing materials. Books, magazines, etc., on table. Lighted 
lamp. A piece of candle. Two sheets. Large hat, cloak and 
dress, comb, brush, jewel cases and small valise for Phyllis. 
Two letters and watch for Beatrice. Telephone, with small 
hand-bell for ringing up. If a fair imitation of a telephone is 
impracticable, it may be supposed to be located behind a small 
screen partially hiding the speaker when in use ; in any case, the 
ringing is off stage. 



STAGE DIRECTIONS 

R. is right hand, l. left hand of stage as seen by a performer 
facing the audience, c. is c— *-r P f stage. 



r *P9 6 -, 



°367fi, 



LOVE AND A WAY 



ACT I. 

SCENE. — Sitting-room, prettily furnished. Table with writing 
materials, books, magazines, etc., near centre. Book shelf 
back. Sofa, chairs, etc. Telephone l., back. Doors rear 
centre and l. Curtained window r. Agnes Porter dis- 
covered standing near table looking despairingly at Phyllis, 
who stands near window. 

Phyllis. It's no use, Aunt Agnes. I think you ought to 
know by this -time that when I say a thing I mean it, Nothing 
can make me alter my opinion about this affair, so I really must 
beg you not to discuss it further. 

Agnes. But, Phyllis, my love, for the sake of that poor young 
man who's so fond of you, do be reasonable. To refuse to marry 
a man simply because your aunts consent ! Why, it's — it's in- 
credible ! 

[Phyllis shrugs her shoulders and looks out of the 
window. Agnes frowns, impatiently turns over 
things on table and comes a few steps nearer Phyl- 
lis. 

Agnes. That is your only reason for refusing him, isn't it? 
And yet it is really no reason at all. He is devoted to you, and 
I am sure your feeling toward him is by no means one of in- 
difference. Your Auat Amelia and I are strongly in favor of 
the marriage 

Phyllis (interrupting). That's just it! It would be such a 
tame affair to marry a man like that. I don't want a quiet, ordi- 
nary wedding — full consent of my aunts, congratulations of my 
friends, heaps of duplicate wedding presents, and afterward no 
end of humdrum afternoon calls and invitations to dinner. No, 
thank you ! I'd rather not get married at all if it comes to that. 
And for this reason I refuse to marry Jack Pemberton. 

Agnes. Well, of all— Phyllis ! 

Phyllis. Yes, Aunt Agnes? 

Agnes. You are spoiling his happiness, and your own. 



4 Love and a Way. 

Phyllis. Oh, no, I'm not. I shouldn't be happy if I mar- 
ried under these circumstances, and neither would Jack if I 
grumbled all the time. 

Agnes. I've never known you in such a mood before. Don't 
you consider how selfish it is to talk like this? 

Phyllis. Selfish or not, I can't help it. I'm sorry if I am 
selfish, but I — I (walking away from window) — I've made up 
my mind, and I'm going to stick to it. 

Agnes. Your Aunt Amelia will have to talk to you again. 
She may be able to reason you out of your whim yet. 

Phyllis. She probably won't do a bit of good, and I shall get 
cross if too much is said. Oh, bother ! 



ENTER Amelia Porter. 

Amelia. Well, Agnes, I've come up again to see how far 
you've been able to influence the child. Little enough, I dare 
say, for you have no reasoning powers to exert, my dear. (To 
Phyllis.) Gracious, child, what's the matter? You look as 
glum as an owl. 

Agnes. I can't do anything with her, Amelia. She won't 
listen to any argument, and she won't give up her foolish whim 
about refusing Mr. Pemberton. 

Amelia. Tut, tut ! Wait till I begin. Phyllis Merrick, please 
state your reasons for refusing Mr. Pemberton. 

Phyllis. I should think you know them by this time, aunt. 
I've given them often enough. 

Amelia (seating herself pompously). No dilly-dallying, child. 
Do as I say and state your reasons in a concise, rational man- 
ner. 

Agnes. She has no reasons that I can see. It's a mere whim 
on her part. 

Amelia. Agnes, are you conducting this conversation, or am 
I? I repeat my request — Phyllis, state your reasons. 

Phyllis (seating herself on arm of sofa and swinging her 
foot). Well, then — I want a romantic marriage. 

Amelia (springing up). A romantic marriage! Dear life, 
what a notion ! A romantic marriage ! Upon my word, Agnes, 
I fear the child is going a little off her head. I do, indeed. A 
romantic marriage ! Bless my soul ! 

Agnes (seating herself). Dearie dear! I hardly know whether 
I'm on my head or my heels half the time, with all these new 
notions of Phyllis's. 

Amelia. Don't apologize, my dear. I can tell that from your 



Love and a "Way» 5 

conversation. As for you, Phyllis, you ought to be ashamed of 
yourself to agitate your aunt like this. 

Phyllis. But surely I have a right to say whom I will or 
will not marry. If I don't choose to marry Jack Pemberton I 
don't see why the whole family should act as if I'd committed a 
crime. 

Amelia. Don't talk in so exaggerated a strain. I'm surprised 
at you. I am, indeed. Why can't you take this man and be 
satisfied, and have a proper wedding, with your friends and rela- 
tions present, like other girls ? 

Phyllis. Because I'm not like other girls, I suppose. 

Amelia. No, you're not. But the comparison is not at all 
in your favor, let me tell you. 

Agnes. Oh, Amelia, she's always been so good before ! 

Amelia. H'm! In appearance, yes. A rosy-cheeked apple, 
rotten at the core ! 

Phyllis. We come from the same branch of the family tree, 
aunt — the family apple-tree I ought to say, after your compli- 
mentary remark. There's one consolation, though. You do ad- 
mit that I'm rosy-cheeked, and some apples aren't even that. I'd 
rather be what you describe me as than crabbed, anyway. 

Amelia. Flippancy, my dear Phyllis, is a characteristic I 
could never tolerate in the young. Lately, I must say, you have 
shown very little of the respect due to your elders — in fact, ever 
since Mr. Pemberton obtained our consent to propose to you. 
What did you tell him, I should like to know? 

Phyllis. I told him the truth. 

Agnes. I do feel sorry for that young man. So cour- 
teous, so chivalrous, so devoted to you. 

Amelia. Don't be soft, Agnes. Spare your sentiments when 
I'm in the room, I beg you. For my own part, I don't see why 
a girl wants to get married, and yet that seems the sole aim 
and object of every girl nowadays. And why you, Phyllis, re- 
fuse a good offer like that — when you're actually fond of the 
man, too — simply because your aunts consent — why, it's — it's 
preposterous ! 

Phyllis. I can't help it ! I don't want — and I won't have — 
a humdrum kind of affair, the kind every one else has, or has 
had, or will have. I want something novel. 

Amelia. Your levity, my dear, is astounding. Girls expressed 
proper opinions, in proper language, when I was young. Heaven 
only knows what has put such ideas into your head, unless it is 
all these novels you've been absorbing lately — pure, unadulterated, 
melodramatic rubbish, that's what I call them. 

Phyllis. Indeed, they're not, Aunt Amelia! They are per- 



6 Love and a "Way. 

fectly lovely. Why, the last two I've read couldn't be better. 
"Marietta" is adorable, and as for "The Pride of Jennico" 

Agnes (interrupting). Touching story! 

Amelia. Touching rot ! How many novels have you read 
this last month, Phyllis Merrick? 

Phyllis. Nine. 

Amelia. Nine? It's more than I've read in all my life ! And 
how many the month before, pray? 

Phyllis. Seven, auntie; but they were longer. 

Amelia. Seven! Seven long novels in a month. Fancy 
apologizing for the small number because of their length. Phyl- 
lis, I am ashamed of you. I shall make out a list of studious 
and instructive books for your immediate perusal. Not one more 
novel shall you see till you've had a sufficient dose of practical 
reading. (Glances toward book shelf.) What have you there? 
(Approaches.) All of Anthony Hope's, it appears; Merriman, 

Stanley Weyman, Richard Harding Davis (Examines books 

more closely.) Do you actually mean to tell me, Phyllis Mer- 
rick, that you read Laura Jean Libby? 

Phyllis. Why shouldn't I? 

Amelia (despairingly). Worse and worse! Agnes, what is 
coming to the girl? Carry those books at once up to the cup- 
board in the attic. I will replace them myself with more suit- 
able volumes. 

[Phyllis takes out an armful and approaches door. 

Phyllis. Mayn't I keep any? 

Amelia. Certainly not! 

[EXIT Phyllis, looking resigned. 

Agnes. Are you not rather hard on the child, Amelia? She 
is very young, and youth is given to sentiment. I'm sure I, for 
one, fully sympathize with her feelings. 

Amelia. My dear Agnes, you have no discrimination ! It is 
the only way to cure her folly. Miss Van Quirk's finishing estab- 
lishment was certainly not the best place in the world for Phyl- 
lis, and I greatly regret our sending her there. However, there's 
no use crying over spilt milk; I can only endeavor not to spill 
any more. 

Agnes. I keep thinking about that poor young man. To 
know, as he does, that Phyllis really cares for him, and to be 
refused in such a manner — for a mere whim. 

Amelia. Really, Agnes, I am surprised at you. Poor young 
man, indeed ! Fortunate, I call him, to be refused by such a 
whimsical little sentimentalist as Phyllis. I have no patience 
with such ideas ; but, really, it would have been an excellent 
match for the child. Jack, of course, as the only son, will in- 



Love and a Way* 7 

herit everything, and that means a great deal in his case. And 
the social position of the Pembertons is as good as our own, 
which also means a great deal. Furthermore, although I don't 
hold with these giddy young things who believe that marriage 
is the sole object of their existence, still, since Phyllis has not 
been educated with the idea of her leading an independent life, 
I should be very well satisfied to see her safely off our hands 
while she is still so young. 

Agnes {walking to ivindozv). Yes, it would have been a good 
match — an excellent match, as you say — from a worldly point of 
view, but I should not have considered that side of it had I 
not known that they really cared for each other. 

Amelia. Really, Agnes, you surprise me exceedingly. Were 
you not my own sister I should doubtless express my feelings 
in still stronger terms. What are you looking at? 

Agnes. Some one is coming up the garden, Amelia. I can't 

quite see who {Leans out.) Oh! It's Beatrice Vane — to 

see Phyllis, I suppose. 

Amelia. I suppose so! 



RE-ENTER Phyllis. 

Amelia. Beatrice Vane is here, Phyllis. I presume you wish 
to see her? 

Phyllis {looking pleased). See Triss? Then she's come 
back, has she? Why, it's a whole month since I've laid eyes on 
her. I should rather think I do want to see her. 

Amelia. I should prefer, my dear Phyllis, that you would 
choose your words a little more carefully, if you please. Beatrice 
shall come to you up here. Agnes, pray assist me in carrying 
away the remainder of these books. {Takes books from shelf. 
Agnes does the same.) 

[EXIT Amelia. 

Agnes. How often have I dreamed over these same romances, 
my dear child. I, too, have had my day with such things. Your 
Aunt Amelia never did. She could not sympathize with love 
affairs of any kind. She did not even sympathize with mine. 

Phyllis. Yours, Aunt Agnes? 

Agnes. Yes, Phyllis, mine. Ah, no, my dear, it never came 

to anything, as you see; but, nevertheless Ah! Beatrice is 

coming. I hear her on the stairs. I will go. 

[EXIT Agnes. 

Phyllis. I wonder if Aunt Agnes felt like this! Am I mis- 
erable or am I not? / don't know. 



8 Love and a Way. 

ENTER Beatrice. 

Beatrice. Hello, Phil! What's the matter? (Kisses her.) 

Phyllis (throwing herself into a chair). Matter? Every- 
thing's the matter. I'm in the midst of a love affair. 

Beatrice. Oh, Phil ! (She stands gazing at Phyllis for a 
few seconds, then tosses her hat onto the sofa, crosses to Phyl- 
lis, places a hand on each arm of chair and looks at her again.) 
Phyllis Merrick, whoever would have thought it? Oh, I don't 
mean anything uncomplimentary, dear. It's so surprising, that's 
all.* I'm sure I congratulate you. 

Phyllis. I'm sure you needn't. 

Beatrice (standing erect). Needn't? Your estimation of your 
future lord and master is not a high one, evidently. Who is the 
happy man, Phyllis? 

Phyllis. He's the reverse of happy at present. 

Beatrice. Why, you haven't quarrelled, have you? 

Phyllis (rising and walking to window). Oh — no! 

Beatrice. Then what is it? 

Phyllis. I — I — I've refused him. 

Beatrice. Refused him ? Oh, Phil, tell me who it is ! 

Phyllis (turning). It's Jack! 

Beatrice. Not Jack Pemberton? 

Phyllis. Yes, it is. 

Beatrice. But, my dear child, you know you like Jack, and 
he's perfectly devoted to you. 

Phyllis. I know that. But I— it's just this, Trissie: I don't 
want it all to go so smoothly. My aunts both consented with- 
out any hesitation whatever; there's no obstacle on Jack's side. 
It would not even have been love in a cottage, which might have 
afforded a little romance. 

Beatrice. To tell you the truth, I fail to see what you're 
driving at. 

Phyllis. And you probably won't see when I've told you. 
My aunts think I'm slightly out of my mind. The fact is (toys 
with things on table) — I want a romantic marriage. 

Beatrice. What a notion ! If you're in love with Jack, why 
can't you marry him in the ordinary way, like an ordinary girl? 

Phyllis. Because I'm not like an ordinary girl, I suppose. 
Don't make me cross by repeating all Aunt Amelia's arguments. 
She's been at me the whole afternoon — they both have. 

Beatrice. I don't wonder at it. You've been reading too 
many novels, Phil. 

Phyllis. So she said. Result — my books go. (Motions 
toward book shelf.) 



Love and a "Way. 9 

Beatrice. But the idea is so— so 

Phyllis. Incredible, absurd, preposterous. I knew what you 
would say, of course. I know what every one will say — every 
one whom Aunt Amelia tells. But I don't care. If Jack had 
been poor it would have made a difference ; or if one of the fami- 
lies — mine or his — had objected. But no! they are both equally 
set on the match, and of course that means a commonplace sort 
of wedding and — (Beatrice moves as if to speak.) 
Don't interrupt ! I know very well what you're going to 
say. Naturally, my aunts would do everything handsome- 
ly. I should probably have the most elaborate wedding 
dress imaginable, and afterward there'd be a huge reception, and 
the "happy man" and I would have to stand under a flowery 
arch or some such nonsense and receive the congratulations of 
everybody present. And the accounts in the papers would tie 
exactly the same as the accounts of all other weddings — 
with only the names to create a diversion. (Recites.) "The 
bride was gowned in an elegant creation of white Duchesse satin, 
elaborately garnitured with real old lace. Her veil of illusion 
was caught to her rippling hair with a spray of the emblematic 
blossoms. Her only ornament was a diamond star, the gift of 
the groom." (Speaks.) No, Trissie, that is what I do not 
want, and that is what I will — not — have! 

Beatrice. Well, for my part, / don't see why you bother about 
such things at all. The game's not worth the candle, my dear, 
and anyway, there are lots of things far and away more inter- 
esting — golf, for instance. Now what more can you want than 
good links and a jolly companion — a man is more useful, I ad- 
mit — and a discreet caddy? / don't want to get married — but 
then, of course, I've never been asked, and I don't know what 
I might say under such trying circumstances ; but if I were in 
your place, and I really cared for Jack — well, all I can say is that 
you're a silly little goose. 

Phyllis. Very sorry, I'm sure. But I'm afraid that your 
opinion of me won't alter mine about Jack. 

Beatrice. How you can treat him so shamefully I cannot im- 
agine. Jack Pemberton's the nicest fellow under the sun 

Phyllis (interrupting). You needn't go into details. Don't 
you suppose I know how nice Jack is? 

Beatrice. Then why 

Phyllis. Spare me, I implore you ! I don't want to mention 
the subject again. You know my reason — let that suffice. Put 
your hat on again and I'll get mine, and we'll go down to Bell's 
and have some ice-cream. 



10 Love and a "Way* 

Beatrice (taking up her hat from sofa). Not a bad idea, my 
love. You need something to cool you down. 



CURTAIN. 



ACT II. 

SCENE. — The same. Phyllis discovered walking moodily up 
and down, hands behind her. 

Phyllis. It's cruel, cruel, cruel ! As if it were Jack's fault 
— as if it made any difference in Jack. What if he has lost his 
fortune? Do I care? And yet both my aunts seem to think it 
such a terrible offence, for ever since they heard of it they've 
forbidden me to see or to speak to him, for fear, they say, that 
he will renew his proposal. They won't have their niece marry 
a penniless man. won't they? I never thought they'd be so mean. 
And — and Jack hasn't come near me, and I did think he'd want me 
to comfort him. (Sinks into chair near table, resting her head 
on her arms, and begins to cry.) 

ENTER Amelia. 

Amelia. Phyllis Merrick, aren't you ashamed of yourself, cry- 
ing like a sentimental school girl? What's the matter with you? 

Phyllis. It wouldn't help matters if I told you. (Drops head 
on arms again). 

Amelia. Pray sit up and control yourself. You are quite 
aware how I detest scenes of this sort. I suppose you are still 
disturbing yourself over the ruined fortunes of that young Pem- 
berton. Well, if I were you I'd stop it. You refused him ob- 
stinately enough when you might have married him, and now, 
because your aunts have very wisely decided that it is a good 
thing you did refuse a man whose fortune is lost, probably 
through his own fault 

Phyllis (interrupting indignantly.) It was not his own fault, 
Aunt Amelia. 

Amelia. I allow no one to contradict me. Phyllis, so pray 
bear that in mind for the future. As I was saying when you so 
rudely interrupted me — now that your Aunt Agnes and I have 



Love and a Way* \\ 

decided that it is fortunate you have refused him, you immedi- 
ately become possessed of the notion that you wish to marry 
him after all. How do you know that he is still of the same 
opinion concerning you? 

Phyllis. Aunt Amelia! How can you insinuate anything so 
horrid? You speak of him as if he were the most fickle creature 
under the sun — as if a breath of wind would alter his opinion. 

Amelia. I am glad to see, my dear niece, that you have learned 
at least one valuable truism — that one should never judge other 
people by one's self. However (as Phyllis makes a movement 
to speak), we stray from our subject. Mr. Pemberton, as a mat- 
ter of fact, came to me only last night to beg that, in spite of his 
misfortune, he should be allowed one more chance of winning 
you. 

Phyllis (interrupting eagerly). Aunt Amelia! Did he — did 
he really? 

Amelia. Pray calm yourself. You will suffer no further an- 
noyance from the young man in question. 

Phyllis. Aunt — Amelia! (Enircatingly.) What did you say? 

Amelia. I told him that, under the circumstances, a union 
with you would be altogether out of the question, even suppos- 
ing, which I deemed impossible, that you could have altered the 
opinion you held a short time previously. Be quiet, my dear. I 
have not yet finished. I told him that I wished no communica- 
tion whatever to be carried on between you, as I did not intend 
my niece to marry a penniless man. 

Phyllis. Aunt — Amelia, you are — cruel. 

Amelia. Some day, Phyllis Merrick, you will thank me for 
this — some day, perhaps, when you are a little less prejudiced, 
and therefore a little less ungrateful. Mr. Pemberton went; let 
us hope he will remain away. In fact, he mentioned the Philip- 
pines as a probable place of future residence. I see you are fast 
losing what little self-control you possess, so I will leave you for 
the present. [EXIT majestically. 

Phyllis. Oh, Jack, Jack! (Sits down with arms on table 
and face hidden. A slight pause, then she starts up.) I won't 
stand it — I won't. The fact that Jack came as he did proves 
that he cares for me as much as ever. Why can't I marry him? 
Do I care for poverty? Do I care whether or not my husband 
be poor in worldly possessions if he have boundless wealth in 
other things — in love and honesty, and truth, and courage, and 
kindness of heart, and tact, and— and — everything else Jack has? 
(Suddenly.) Oh, but he's going away! Aunt Amelia said he 
was. The Philippines? Oh, never! I think my heart would 
break if Jack went to the Philippines. (Wipes her eyes.) I 



J2 Love and a Way. 

don't know what to do, and I haven't any one to help or advise 
me. Perhaps Trissie would. I'll ring her up. (Goes to tele- 
phone.) Hello! Hello! 4-0-2-3, please. Yes, forty — twenty 
— three. (Aside.) Of all blessed nuisances — Hello! Didn't 
you hear? Forty — twenty — three. Is that clear? (Aside). If 
Trissie can't come and help me, I don't know who can. Why 
on earth — Hello ! . . . It's Phyllis Merrick. ... Is that you, 
Triss? . . . Oh, Triss, I'm so miserable! . . . What? . . . I'm 
— so— miserable . . . mis — er — a — ble ! Can't you come over? 
I'm perfectly wretched, and I want your advice. . . . What? . . . 
Oh, do come. You would if you knew why I wanted you. . . . 
What? The dressmaker? . . . Oh, hang the dressmaker! Put 
her off and come to me, Triss. . . . You must. Listen, it's about 
J. P. . . . What ? Hello ! Oh, I thought they were ringing 
us off. ... I said J. P. . . . No, not a justice of the peace. You 
know who J. P. is. Do come. . . . Ah, I thought you would. 
. . . All right, I'll expect you at once; three minutes from 
now at the outside. (Rings off.) That's all right. (Advances 
down stage.) I'll feel better when I've talked to Triss. But 
I think Jack might send me word of some kind. 



ENTER Agnes. 

Agnes. To whom were you telephoning just now? 

Phyllis. To Beatrice. I want her to come over. I need 
some one to talk to, goodness knows. 

Agnes. My dear child, you are perfectly well aware that I 
should be only too glad to talk to you. Surely you can confide 
in your own aunt. 

Phyllis. No, I can't; not about Jack, anyway. (Pleading- 
ly.) Oh, Aunt Agnes, if you knew how much I want to see 
him ; if you knew how much I love him. 

Agnes. But you are so changeable. A little while ago you 
would not hear of him as your lover, and now 

Phyllis (interrupting). And now, Aunt Agnes, I am no 
longer pretending indifference to him on the score of not wish- 
ing a too commonplace wedding. It would be romantic to marry a 
man iust after he had lost his fortune, if only you and Aunt 
Amelra weren't so cruel. (Hides her face in handkerchief for 
a moment.) I did think you would have been on my side. 

Agnes. I am very sorry for you, my dear, but I cannot help 
agreeing with your Aunt Amelia in this particular case. And 
although I should never consider the money question alone, still 
you must realize that it would never do for a niece of the Por- 



Love and a Way J 3 

ters to marry a penniless man. Love is essential, indeed, to 
true wedded happiness, but you cannot live only on love. 

Phyllis. But suppose I had consented to marry him at first. 
If I had, you couldn't have stopped me now. 

Agnes. Such a supposition is not to be considered, Phyllis, 
for the realization of it does not exist. I am afraid you must 
abide by our decision, my dear. 

Phyllis. You were so sorry for him before, but you don't 
seem to realize that it is just as hard on Jack as it ever was — 
harder, because now I want to marry him. (Impatiently.) Oh, 
I told you it was no use talking to you about him. (Sits down.) 



ENTER Beatrice. 

Beatrice. The maid told me you were up here, so I thought 
I'd save you the trouble of coming downstairs. (Sees Agnes.) 
How do you do? (They shake hands.) I hope I haven't dis- 
turbed you? 

Agnes. Not at all, Beatrice, not at all. I am very glad you 
have come, and I shall be more so if you succeed in showing 
Phyllis how extremely foolish she is. I never saw such a girl 
in all my life. 

[EXIT, shaking her head. 

Phyllis (tragically). Have you heard? 

Beatrice. Heard what? 

Phyllis. They won't let me marry Jack because he's lost his 
fortune. As if that mattered when we love each other. (Rests 
elbozv on arm of chair and head on hand.) 

Beatrice. Yes, I've heard. 

Phyllis. Who told you? 

Beatrice. Jack. He's frightfully cut up about it. 

Phyllis (springing up). You saw Jack? Oh, Triss, tell me 
— tell me what he said. 

Beatrice. He said he would give anything to see you once 
before he goes. 

Phyllis He is going, then? Where? When? 

Beatrice. I don't know. But he is going. And, Phil, you 
must remember that he does not yet know you would be willing 
to listen to him now — that you do care for him very, very much. 

Phyllis. Oh, if I could only tell him before he goes — if I 
could only see him, write to him 

Beatrice (glancing around). Are you sure no one can see or 
hear? Your aunts must know nothing of this. (Slowly.) Jack 
has sent you a letter. 



14 Love and a Way. 

Phyllis. For me? A letter for me — from Jack? Give it 
me, Triss, give it me. 

Beatrice (carefully producing letter). He was forbidden to 
see or to write to you. He dare not let your aunts know what 
he has done. But his love for you is strong enough to break 
their command. (Hands letter to Phyllis, who reads it eagerly, 
Beatrice watching her.) 

Phyllis. He says he is going very soon — probably to the Phil- 
ippines — and he asks for one word of farewell to carry with 
him. He says he dares to hope for this much, because he knows 
that at least I care for him as a friend. He goes to retrieve, or 
to try to retrieve, his loss. Will I send him one line — one word 
— to wish him success? 

Beatrice. Will you? 

Phyllis. Will I? I can't let him go like this. I can't let 
him go — perhaps forever — without knowing the truth. Jack was 
too honorable to say anything about his love for me after his 
interview with Aunt Amelia and Aunt Agnes, but at least he 
ought to know that / will not throw him over when he is in 
trouble. Will you take my answer to him, Trissie? 

Beatrice. Yes. I told him I would if you wrote. 

Phyllis. I shall always love you for this. (Sits down at 
table, drawing ink, etc., toward her. Begins to write, then 
pauses.) I hardly know how to express what I want to say. It 
— it's the hardest letter I ever had to write. (Continues writ- 
ing. Beatrice moves about room and takes up a book or two 
while waiting.) Triss, tell me. Do you think this will do? 
{Reads.) "Dear Jack, when Aunt Amelia told me she had 
forbidden you to see me again I thought you were going without 
a word. A week is an endless time to wait for a thing you're 
afraid won't come after all, and yet I might have known you 
wouldn't forget. Jack, I don't want you to go. I'm very — un- 
happy. I don't want to be left all alone, now. / don't care 
whether you are poor or not. Oh, you know what I mean. 
Yours, Phyllis." (Pause.) 

Beatrice (slowly). Ye-es, I think that will do. Fold it up 
and give it me quickly. No one must see it. (Phyllis does 
so.) 

Phyllis. You don't think I've committed myself? You are 
sure Jack does care as much as ever? 

Beatrice. As sure as I am that I am Beatrice Vane. 

Phyllis. Or vain Beatrice? 

Beatrice. Ah, you're in better spirits already. And I dare 
say Jack will be, too, when I've given him this. Poor fellow! 
It's rather rough on him. 



Love and a Way. J 5 

Phyllis. But a man can rough things so much better than 
a girl. He's not forbidden to go for walks alone for fear of 
his meeting me ; he's not forced to listen to a course of daily 
lectures on the advisability of "niecely" obedience, and the in- 
jurious consequences of reading what Aunt Amelia calls melo- 
dramatic rubbish. He's not bullied — it's the only sufficiently 
expressive word — into wading through horrid dry volumes about 
horrid dry things. Look there! {Points to book shelf.) 

Beatrice {approaching). Gracious, what a learned person 
you'll be if you get through all these! You've got every one 
of Spencer's and of Huxley's, I should think. {Reads.) "Meth- 
od and Results," "Man's Place in Nature" 

Phyllis {scornfully) . "Man's Place in Nature!" Who wants 
to read that? Man's place in nature is at the feet of women, or 
nowhere. As for the other — "Method and Results," isn't it — 
well, I suppose this is Aunt Amelia's method for bringing me to 
a proper frame of mind. What the result will be Heaven only 
knows. 

Beatrice. I wish I could smuggle a few books up to you, but 
I am rather afraid to do it. I must come in often to cheer you 
up instead. Well, dear, I'd better go now, if I am to see Jack 
this afternoon. 

Phyllis. Yes, do go; go now, at once. Don't run the risk 
of missing Jack, please! Tell him — oh, tell him what you like. 
But go — do go! {Almost pushes her to door.) 

Beatrice {laughing). You're in a jolly big hurry to get rid 
of me, Phil. Never mind, I'll forgive you for Jack's sake. Good- 
bye, dear. {Kisses her.) [EXIT. 

Phyllis. Jack hadn't forgotten me. Oh, you dear, dear boy! 
{Re-reads letter.) If he weren't going away I think I could 
still afford to be happy. But he's going— going, and I don't 
know when I shall see him again. (Sits down with face hid- 
den.) 

CURTAIN. 



ACT III. 

SCENE.— The same. Time, the next evening. Phyllis dis- 
covered sewing near table, on which is a lighted lamp. Bea- 
trice stands in doonvay. As curtain rises Phyllis lets sew- 
ing fall into her lap and rests head on hand, sighing.) 

Beatrice (after a few seconds). Phil ! 



i 6 Love and a "Way. 

Phyllis (starting and turning). Triss ! Is that you? 

Beatrice (advancing). Yes, it's I. Aren't you surprised 
to see me at this time of night? 

Phyllis. To tell you the truth, I am. But I'm very glad, all 
the same. I thought I was doomed to spend the evening by 
myself, for Aunt Amelia declared my temper was enough to try 
the patience of a saint; and Heaven knows Aunt Amelia's no saint, 
so you can imagine the state her patience got into. It began 
to be a little too hot for comfort then, so I came up here and 
left them to themselves. Besides, two's company and three's 
none, as I innocently remarked, only Aunt Amelia mistook my 
innocence for impertinence, so I cleared out in a hurry. 

Beatrice. I must say I should not like to have the care of 
you at present, Phil. 

Phyllis. You speak as if I were a wild animal or a lunatic. 
But goodness knows the things I have to put up with are enough 
to make me one or the other. If you've only come over to talk 
like that — oh, look here, I don't want to get cross with you of 
all people, but it's getting on my nerves. 

Beatrice. Poor child, I don't wonder. Now look here. To 
use your own expression, if you hadn't talked so much yourself 
when I came in you'd have known by now why I came. 

Phyllis. Why did you come? 

Beatrice. You might have guessed it was something im- 
portant to bring me here now. It's nearly eight o'clock. Father 
and mother have gone out, or I might have found it hard to get 
away. (Slowly.) I've brought the answer to your note. 

Phyllis (jumping up). From Jack? 

Beatrice. Yes, from Jack. Here, read it. 

[Gives letter to Phyllis, who tears it open and reads 
eagerly. As she finishes she lets the letter fall and 
turns to Beatrice with an exclamation of delight. 

Phyllis. Oh, Trissie! 

Beatrice. Gracious, Phil ! What on earth has he said to 
make you look like that? 

Phyllis. He — he wants me — to run away with him. 

Beatrice. Phyllis! 

Phyllis. He says it is worth losing his fortune to know that 
I care so much. He says (picking up letter) he will mind noth- 
ing else if only I will consent to be with him now — to go away 
with him. And as my aunts won't consent to our marriage, he 
says that this is the only way left. 

Beatrice. But when. How? 

Phyllis. Now ; at once ; to-night. If I consent I am to place 
a lighted candle outside the window, on the sill. He will be there 



Love and a Way. J 7 

for me at eight, and — and he says he has arranged everything for 
our marriage to-night, trusting to my consent. We have very little 
time, Triss, less than a quarter of an hour. (As she speaks she 
opens table drawer and takes out a piece of candle.) Is this 
big enough? I was using a candle for something the other day, 
and popped the rest of it into the drawer. It comes in handy 
now. (Lights candle and places it outside window, Beatrice 
watching her in evident amazement. Then she moves to door 
l., stops and looks in a dismayed zvay at Beatrice.) What must 
I do? What shall I take? 

Beatrice. You are really going? 

Phyllis. Going? I should think so ! Dear old Jack ! (Sud- 
denly.) You don't think my aunts will come in, do you? 

Beatrice. Oh, no ! They're safe in the library downstairs. 
Come, if you're going you must lose no time. Take as little as 
possible. Put what you need into your small valise. You'd bet- 
ter bring the things in here, and I'll help you get them ready. 

[EXIT Phyllis l. Beatrice goes to window and pulls 
aside curtain 

Phyllis (from next room). Trissie ! (Appears at door with 
hands full of things and a dress over one arm.) How am I to 
get down to him? 

Beatrice. Give me the sheets off your bed and I'll knot them. 
If they aren't quite long enough. Jack will catch you when you 
drop. But, Phyllis, you can't take all those things. 

Phyllis. Why not? (Drops them onto chair.) 

Beatrice (picking up dress). When a girl elopes, my dear, 
she doesn't take half her wardrobe with her. Take these back 
at once. Your little valise is all you can carry, and that will 
only hold the things you need. 

Phyllis (disconsolately) . But that's my new dress. I've only 
worn it once. 

Beatrice. I am sorry, but it can't be helped. You must do 
as I say. Give me the sheets, Phil, and I'll get them ready. 

[Phyllis disappears l., returning in a moment zvith two 
large sheets, zvhich she drops onto sofa. 

Beatrice. Thank you. Now, here goes. (Takes a corner of 
each, knotting them together. While she does so Phyllis again 
disappears l., and returns with small valise and several arti- 
cles, brush and comb, slipper-bag, nightdress case, etc., all of 
which she places on table.) I'd better make a knot in the mid- 
dle of each. That will help you to slide down. 

Phyllis (putting things in valise). Yes. Oh, Triss, what 
will they say when they know? 

Beatrice. Well, you won't hear what they say, at any rate. 



18 Love and a Way. 

It's I who'll catch it the most, my dear. I'd like to know how 
I'm to get home again, too. I had hard enough work getting 
up to your room without being seen, although I came in by the 
back way. 

Phyllis. You're a darling, Triss. You always were. Oh, I 
must take my rings, and a brooch or two, and my opal neck- 
lace. They aren't big — there's lots of room for them. 

[EXIT l. 

Beatrice (alone). Vanity, thy name is Phyllis. There, thafs 
finished (lifting sheet). Now, how can I fasten them? 

RE-ENTER Phyllis with jezvel boxes. 

Phyllis. What are you going to do? 

Beatrice. I don't know. I can't think how to fasten the end 
firmly enough to bear your weight. Oh, I could tie this one to 
the back of a chair and sit in the chair while you're going down. 
I could even hold the end, to make sure. 

Phyllis (putting boxes into valise). You — you don't think 
I shall fall? (Shuts valise.) 

Beatrice. Fall? Of course not. Don't get frightened now. 
Think of Jack. (Pulls out watch.) Four minutes to eight. 

Phyllis. Oh, Trios. (Hides face on Beatrice's shoulder.) 

Beatrice. Let me tie the sheet, dear. He will be here soon. 
(Ties end of sheet to chair by window.) Have you some thick 
string to lower the valise with? 

Phyllis. Yes, in my room. 

[EXIT l. Beatrice lifts valise onto chair by window, 
blows out and removes candle and looks out. 

RE-ENTER Phyllis. 

Phyllis. Here is some. (Gives it to Beatrice, who ties one 
end to handle of valise.) 

Beatrice. Put on your hat and a cloak, dear. He will be here 
very soon now. 

[Phyllis glances out of window, then runs hastily into 
bedroom, returning immediately with big hat in one 
hand and a long cloak over her arm. 
Phyllis. Is he there yet? (Puts on hat.) 
Beatrice (looking out of window). Not yet; it isn't quite 
time. Here, let me help you. (Puts cloak around Phyllis.) 
Phyllis (suddenly). Ah, I've forgotten such an important 
thing. (Clasps hands.) 

Beatrice. What is it? Don't put your gloves on till after- 



Love and a "Way* i 9 

ward. You won't be able to hold the sheet so firmly. Well, 
what have you forgotten? 

Phyllis (tragically). The note on the pincushion! 

Beatrice. Shall you write one? 

Phyllis. Is there time? 

Beatrice. Yes, if you're very quick. I'll watch for him while 
you do it. 

Phyllis (sitting at table and writing). Is he coming? 

Beatrice (at window). No. 

Phyllis (still writing). You must pin it on after I'm gone. 
Is he coming yet? 

Beatrice. I thought I heard the latch of the side gate click 
very softly. Have you written it? 

Phyllis (blotting note and rising). Yes. I've not said much. 
You can read it when I'm gone, and put it in the proper place 
for me. Is he there? 

Beatrice. He's coming. (Draws back. Phyllis runs to win- 
dow and leans out.) 

Phyllis (calls softly). Jack! Jack! Are you there? 
(Slight pause.) 

Beatrice. Is he? 

Phyllis. Yes. He says am I ready? Jack! (Slight pause). 
Yes, I'm coming. I — I must say good-by to Triss. . . . 
What? . . . Yes, I'll be quick. (Turns to Beatrice.) Good- 
by, dear. I don't know when I shall see you again, but I never 
shall forget you. Thank you a thousand times for helping me 
so. (They embrace each other. To Jack.) Did you call me, 
dearest? . . . I'll send the valise down now. Don't be afraid. 
It's a very small one. (Lowers valise slozvly by string through 
window.) Have you got it? . . . Yes? What did you say? 
When am / coming. I will— Now. But oh, Jack,— I— I— can't! 
(Suddenly draws back and clings to Beatrice.) 

Beatrice. Oh, you mustn't hang back now. Listen, Jack's 
speaking. (Leans out of window.) 

Phyllis. What does he say? 

Beatrice. He says if you are not quick they may discover 
your intended flight, and then — 

Phyllis. Oh, I'll go. I'll go. (Approaches window.) Jack, 
I'm coming. (Climbs carefully over zvindow sill, Beatrice sit- 
ting or kneeling on chair and holding end of sheet.) Good-by, 
dear Triss. To-morrow I shall be Jack's wife, and no one can 
come between us then. Yes, Jack, I— I am coming. (Disap- 
pears.) 

Beatrice (leaning out of window). Are you all right? Have 
you got her safe, Jack? (Slight pause.) Good-by, then, and 



20 Love and a Way. 

good luck to you. Take care of her, Jack. (Watches for a 
moment.) They're gone! (Turns and advances toward front 
of stage and bursts out laughing.) Oh, Phyllis! Phyllis! Phyl- 
lis ! And she did it so beautifully, too, even to the note on the 
pincushion. (Takes note from table.) She said I might read 
it. Bless the child ! (Reads.) "My Dear Aunts : I am going 
away to-night with Jack. Please forgive me. I can't help it, 
because we love each other. There is no time to write more. 
I shall always remember you with affection, and trust that you 
will not think too hardly of me. Yours, Phyllis." I ought to 
put it 

ENTER Amelia and Agnes. 

Amelia (glancing triumphantly round the room). She has 
gone, then? 

Beatrice. Gone? I should think so. Jack has her safe 
enough now. 

Agnes (going to zvindow). Fancy eloping through the win- 
dow with a knotted sheet in these prosaic days. Ah ! to have 
had such an experience ! Amelia, it was a brilliant idea of 
yours. 

Amelia. Say, rather, one of my many brilliant ideas. I flat- 
ter myself I am not limited to a single flash of inspiration. Yes, 
I am glad I thought of it. (To Beatrice.) Mr. Pemberton ac- 
quiesced very readily, did he not? 

Beatrice. Dear me, yes. In fact, I — I almost think the idea 
really originated with him. Still, that is a minor point. 

Amelia. Ah, yes, a minor point. And she never suspected ? 

Beatrice. Not the slightest bit. She was as miserable as 
could be till she got Jack's note to-night. 

Agnes. She did not hesitate to go with him, then? 

Beatrice. Not for one second. 

Agnes. I knew it was a case of true love. How happy the 
dear children will be together now. I am already longing to 
see them both again. 

Amelia. Bless my soul, Agnes, you're as bad as ever. I see 
where the child gets her sentimental notions. I really wonder 
at myself for allowing such a termination to the affair, and yet 
I wanted Phyllis to be happy as much as any one, I'm sure. Well, 
let us hope she will be. 

Beatrice. And the money Jack lost? 

Amelia. Only amounted to a thousand dollars, thrown away 
on some foolish experiment, but it stood us in good stead. A 
thousand dollars is a mere nothing to Jack Pemberton. 



Love and a "Way. 2 1 

Agnes. So the dear child will have her romantic marriage 
after all, and will marry the man she loves and of whom we ap- 
prove into the bargain. 

Beatrice. And has left the prescribed note on the pincushion 
as well, so as to leave no detail of her runaway match undone. 
Here it is. (Gives note to Amelia, laughing.) I hadn't time, 
nor had she, to put it actually on the pincushion, but by a little 
stretching of the imagination we may suppose it came from 
there. 

Amelia (reading). H'm ! H'm ! Always remember us with 
affection, will she? Yes, doubtless, when she knows the truth. 
Here, Agnes. 

Agnes (reads). Bless the child! To think she should re- 
member to write when she was in such a hurry. 

Amelia. Don't be silly, Agnes. I'm surprised at you. It 
would have been a good deal more to be wondered at if she 
hadn't written, after all we've done for her. 

Beatrice. She didn't know then, nor does she now, how much 
you have done. 

Agnes. Do you think she will forgive the deception? 

Beatrice. Forgive? Undoubtedly. He will not tell her till 
after the honeymoon, and by that time she will be not only in love 
with Jack, but also in love with being Mrs. Jack Pemberton. 



CURTAIN. 



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Act I. Home of the Light-house Keeper.— An autumn afternoon.— The insult. 
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jackets.— Father and son.— On duty.— A struggle for fortune.— Loved for himself.— 
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PRICE, 15 CENTS. 

Eight male, three female and utility characters : Leading Juvenile man, first and 
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SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. 

Act I. At Fort Lee, on the Hudson. — News from the war. — The meeting. — 
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—A little misunderstanding. — A deserted wife. — The truth revealed. — Brought to 
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•GOLDEN GULCH.: 



An Original Drama in 3 Acts, by Charles Townsend 



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A new play, with a romantic Western theme, full of brisk action, exciting 
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CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

Frank Evarts.. A government scout 

George Dixon "Gentleman George," an outlaw 

Fergus O'Gooligan Who runs the " Coort " 

Peter Nagglb Landlordof the Golden Gulch hotel 

Chummy Litewate A New York blossom 

Broncho Bill A " tough " customer 

One Lung Celestia I and sly 

Senator Juniper Toots Acullud polertieian.Sah 

Ikey Einstein Always ready to sell you somedings sheap 4 

Taxicum Sniffles Whose strong points are Tracts and " Reform " 

Old Magnus (doubles with Naggle) A degenerate Indian 

Jess Horton A madcap of the Sierras 

Mrs. Naggle Strong-minded, and boss of the shanty 

Miss Matilda Corey A faded flower from " down East" i 

Time, the present. Place, California. Time of playing, two hours and a 
quarter. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. 

ACT I.— The Golden Gulch hotel.— A musical Chinaman.— " Annie Rooney." 
^-A scheme.— The festive dude and the negro politician.— The Jew Peddler.— 
Gentleman George makes a purchase.— Jess and the outlaw.— Frank and 
Naggle compare notes.— " We might hang 'em on general principles."— Old 
acquaintances.— A warning.— The dude on his muscle.— The card-sharper.— 
The tract distributor.— The game begins.— Frank takes a hand.—" Hands up ! 
I hold a trump card !"— " I hold another 1" 

ACT II.— Among the hills.— Time, the next morning.— Ireland and Africa 
at war.— The "noble red man" joins in.— A big scare, and nobody hurt.— 
The missionary makes a trial.—" Big fool ! Wah !"— The false message.— 
The robbery.— Old Ikey In the toils.— The dude investigates and strikes a 
hard customer.— A villainous scheme.— The accusation of murder.—" Stand 
back I It's my turn now 1" 

ACT III.— At the hotel, one hour later.— Active prohibition.— Toots and 
O'Gooligan on a bender.— The Chinese way.— The smashed up missionary.— 
Toots makes an offer.— Frank a prisoner.— Judge O'Gooligan opens court.— «, 
Getting a jury.—" Tut, tut, now, don't say a word."— The judge presents the l 
case. — Some tough evidence. — The verdict.— The end of n Gentleman j 
George."— Finale. 

B^" Copies will be mailed, postpaid, to any address, on receipt of price. 

DICK & FITZGERALD, Publishers, 

18 ANN ST., NEW YORK. 

M Mlilbl^MlllillMlMl^ll.M l^lllHllillll MllllllklMllllilllllllllllllllllllji l! ijlljIIIMllilllllltflllllllMMlliilllllMlljillllUllllllllllH 



FEB 1 1S04 

MOTHER "PEACOW." 

Josiah's Courtship. 

A FARCICAL COMEDY- DRAMA IN 4 ACTS 
By HORACE C DALE. 



A broad-gauge play written on the lines of The Deacok. Requiring but littta 
scenery, it can be produced in any ordinary hall, and is specially recommended to 
dramatic clubs In want of a new play with good comedy features and forceful, but 
not too heavy, straight " business." Hilarious mirth alternates with deep pathos, 
and the numerous striking situations of ever- varying character cannot fall to make 
the play go. The act-endings are particularly good, producing uproarious merriment 
and curtain calls. While the play abounds in taking farcical " business," there are 
a number of good, strong scenes that afford scope for much dramatic action and wlii 
•sail forth the best efforts of all the persons In the cast. 

CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

JOSIAH PERKINS, brusque and fickle Eccentric Old Ma* 

THOMAS HART, a young lawyer in love with Edna Leading Gentlemak 

RICHARD ROLAND, supposedly wealthy, but heartless and scheming, Genteel Heavy 
HARRY SHARP, a detective, pierced with Cupld'B D»"* ..Walking Gentleman 

JOE, a mischievous newsboy Juvenile Comedy 

MIKE, Josiah's valet ...= Irish Dialect Comedy 

JEFF, Priscilla's man-of all-work Ethiopian Comedy 

PRISCILLA BROWN, whose affections are centered in Josiah. . .Eccentric Old Maid 

EDNA, her niece, with a penchant for Mr. Hart. Leading Lady 

BIRDIE, an "angel" who flirts ...Soubrettr 

MRS. BLACK, a childless widow Walking Lady 

Time, the present. Place, Richmond, Va. Timb op Playing, 2 hours. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. 

ACT I.— Parlor at Prlscilla Brown's— A kettle of flsh— Josiah gets an " angel " to 
fix him up— A mistaken embrace and a total eclipse—" Bah, he's been eatin' onions !" 

— A dusky prophet — The girls' compact — "I's wid yo\ pard, ebery time : we'll turn 
disyere house upside down "—Sharp, the detective— The "angel "gives some good 
advice— A wronged and childless widow—" A woman's business "—The rival suitors— 
An altercation — Jeff's plans begin to work — " Curse you, I'll "—Consternation 

— Picture. 

ACT II.— Sharp's office— The detective and the " angel "— A photo In evidence— 
A trick on the Irishman— Josiah gets excited again— Joe gives the old man a " tip "— 
An embarrassing predicament— A providential interruption— A few " p'inted " ques- 
tions — The " angel " offers some more good advice — ,r Is that young rascal trying 
to cut me out ? " — The story of Josiah's life — An old man's darling — Prlscilla scents 
a mouse — An undress rehearsal— Out of the frying-pan into the fire. 

ACT III.— Back at Priscilla's— Another embarrassment for Josiah— " By gollv, 
dis am a debbil ob a muss ! " — Prlscilla in war paint — Reconciliation — More trouble 
for Jeff — " I'm in love up to my eyebrows ! " — A spring chicken and an old hen — A 
bitter encounter — Defiance — Josiah makes a bargain with the " angel " — Confusion 
worse confounded. 

ACT IV.— Scene as before— A vote of confidence— A few more pointed question* 
-"Ef dar's gwine ter be a 'sploslon, dis coon will see de fun eben ef he gits blowed 
up "—Mike on a tear —Josiah's ultimatum— A father's confession and an unexpected 
guest— The " 'sploslon "—Tom's exculpation— The biter bit— Father and son— Priscilla 
relents— "Call in the preacher and let's all be happy !"— The remnants of Mike— Finale. 

t&"Copies will be mailed, postpaid, to any address on receipt of the priee. m && 



DICK & FITZGERALD, Publishers, 

1 8 Ann Street, New York. 

# * # Every club that has played "The Deacon" wants " Josiah** 
Courtship.*' It will pack the bouse like a box of sardines. 4? * « 



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